Chapter 35 Packy
packy
Holding Nix’s fingers felt safer than taking his hand, which should’ve told me something. We walked back to his place without saying much. That was fine, but when we got inside and closed the door behind us, the quiet seemed colder.
After taking turns in the bathroom, we sat on the sofa. I kept remembering what we’d said: talk after the playoffs. It made sense to table things now, focus on hockey, and do our jobs. But if it made so much sense, why did it feel like taping over a crack and hoping no one noticed?
Nix had asked about a future, not demanded one. The question hit as hard as it had in Miami, scrambling my thoughts. My contract, Buffalo, trades, moves… it all swirled through my mind. For some reason, the moving part wouldn’t let go. Would he say “move if you can,” or “move or this is over”?
He sat hunched forward, staring at his hands as the lamplight smoothed his face. It softened the tension lines without erasing them.
I loved him so much it hurt, and the idea of losing him was inconceivable. Trying not to think about that, I glanced out the window at the Manhattan skyline. Nix was still quiet, not even looking at me, and I couldn’t stand the distance. I reached for him.
When our fingers laced together, he raised his head. His eyes looked tired and anxious, like he needed the same reassurance I did. I leaned in and kissed him. His lips moved against mine, making me feel a little better.
We’re here. We’re still us.
Even after we broke the kiss to catch our breath, we kept our foreheads nearly touching. Outside, a siren screamed down Ninth Avenue and blended into the city’s noise. I took it as a sign of how fast time moved, and how soon I’d be somewhere else.
Nix pulled back, and his lips brushed mine when he spoke. “You hungry?”
“For food?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and some of the tension in his jaw eased. “Yeah. I’ve got leftover lo mein and half a pizza.”
“Perfect.”
We held hands on our way to the kitchen. Signs of Nix’s daily life were all around, like the chipped Condors mug by the coffeemaker. Nearby, a stack of mail sat unopened, and a grocery list in his neat block letters hung on the fridge. Eggs, bread, and chicken.
He’d taped a Condors schedule to a cabinet door next to a photo of us from the winter coats event in Buffalo. We were wearing big grins, and I had my arm around his shoulders. The photographer caught us mid-laugh, completely unguarded.
My heart skipped a beat. This was the life he lived when I wasn’t around, and he’d included me. I was part of what he saw every day.
While Nix microwaved the lo mein, I took pizza from the fridge and divided the slices onto our plates. He leaned against the counter, his expression hard to read. It wasn’t worried, exactly. More like cautious.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
But he didn’t look away.
When the microwave beeped, he took out the noodles and set them on the counter between us. We ate standing side by side, our hips bumping every time one of us moved. He stole a piece of pepperoni from my plate, and I kissed his cheek in return.
“Cold pizza is objectively superior to warm,” I said around a mouthful. “Not even a debate.”
He scrunched his nose. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
“Are too.” He smiled. “But I still like you more than anyone.”
I put down my plate and kissed him. Quickly taking control, he pushed me against the fridge and pinned my hands beside my head. The kiss was fierce and possessive. I surrendered with my body but met his tongue with mine, trying to show him I needed this as much as he did.
Please trust me, Nix. I need a little time.
When we broke apart, his cheeks were flushed. “Finish eating?”
“Should we?”
“Probably.”
But he was already reaching for me again, and between kisses, we fed each other dinner. Afterward, we washed the dishes together, elbows bumping, his shoulder pressing against mine every few seconds like he couldn’t stand not touching.
We ended up back on the couch. I stretched my arm along the back, and he tucked himself into my side, head on my shoulder, resting one hand on my chest. On TV, a game recap played with the volume muted. Neither of us watched.
“I’ll miss this,” he said. “During the playoffs.”
I pressed a kiss into his hair and breathed in the smell of his shampoo. It was something clean and woodsy that I’d started associating with happiness. “Me too.”
He turned his face up and studied me. There was still some anxiety there, but he definitely looked calmer.
While we watched each other, the fire we’d lit in the kitchen spread through me. The talking part of the night was over.
He must have sensed it too, because he turned toward me. I put my cheek against his, thrilled by the pull of our scruff. When I brushed my thumb across the hollow of his throat, his pulse jumped.
“Pack,” he said.
I kissed him, and he opened for me immediately. Cradling the back of my neck, he deepened the kiss.
After a moment, he pulled back and dropped his gaze to his hands. “I need you, babe, but I don’t think I can deal with fucking. My head is too loud.” He looked up, and his eyes found mine. “But I want to be close to you.”
I felt the same way. The uncertainty made our need for connection stronger.
“Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “Just us, jerking off together.”
“Yeah. That’s a great idea.”
We stood, and the rustle of clothes coming off was the only sound in the room. Then, naked, we spread throws over the sofa and sat with our shoulders touching and thighs pressed together.
I leaned back and wrapped my hand around my cock. It was already half hard, and my easy, familiar grip brought me to full attention in no time. I started a slow rhythm, swiping my thumb over the head now and then to spread the wetness gathering there.
Nix moaned, and I looked over to watch him. His eyes were fixed on my lap, and he was matching my pace while he jerked himself. His chest rose and fell, his pecs sharpening with every breath.
“You’re so hot,” I said. “I love watching you do that.”
His eyes flicked up to mine before dropping back down. “You too. I like that thing you do with your thumb. Firm but gentle.”
I demonstrated, circling the sensitive ridge. He mimicked the motion, and our hands fell into sync. The only sounds were our breaths, the rhythmic rub of skin on skin, and a few soft grunts.
“Faster,” he whispered. “Want to see you get close.”
I tightened my grip and picked up the speed. The pleasure built slowly, a coiling heat in my gut. When my balls drew up, I knew I was close.
But I didn’t want it to end yet. Leaning over, I took him into my mouth. He let out a sharp hiss.
He tasted salty and clean, and his natural musk filled my nostrils while I sucked him.
His moans turned into low growls while I swirled my tongue around the head.
Then I drew him in deep before dragging my tongue along the bottom of his shaft on the pull-back.
He set the pace, tangling his fingers in my hair and guiding my head up and down until his hips started to thrust.
He tugged my head back. “Don’t want to come yet. My turn.”
I groaned as he took me in. The heat of his mouth was incredible, and he knew exactly what I liked, how much suction, and where to press his tongue.
When he sucked me deep and relaxed his throat, my hips bucked off the couch.
I was already lost in it, but as soon as the pressure climbed to an unbearable peak, he pulled off.
“Want to see you fly apart,” he said.
We sat back and angled our bodies toward each other until our knees touched. When we started jacking off, it was hard and fast.
“Thinking about last night after I got here,” I said. “How I fucked you so hard you came without touching yourself.”
He groaned. “Damn, that was hot. I’m thinking about how you fucked me that first time. Nobody had ever done it like that, and God, the look on your face.” Our gazes locked. “I’d never seen anyone so turned on.”
“Want to be inside you again.” My voice had turned raspy. “Tomorrow morning, before I leave.”
“Fuck me so hard I’ll feel it for days.” He thrust his cock into his fist hard to demonstrate.
That was it. The coil in my gut snapped, and my back bowed as the orgasm tore through me. It wasn’t a gentle wave, but more like a violent, explosive crash. I cried out as I shot thick, hot ropes of cum onto my chest and stomach. It was endless.
Beside me, Nix let out a strangled sound. His body went rigid, his hips jerking as his own release hit. He painted his abs in long, white stripes and threw his head back in a silent shout.
Eventually, we collapsed against the cushions, bodies sprawled against each other. Nix found my hand, and our fingers tangled. They were wet and sticky, exactly right.
We were a sweaty, spent mess, but as the aftershocks faded, the static in my head finally eased. We were still here, still us.